


Hope Has A Time Limit

by BrokenCelestial



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, How Do I Tag, I Tried, I Wrote This While Listening to Hozier's Music, M/M, Modern Era, Multi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-14
Updated: 2020-07-14
Packaged: 2021-03-04 18:21:58
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,187
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25270804
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BrokenCelestial/pseuds/BrokenCelestial
Summary: One night during an Amis meeting Grantaire’s words strike a chord with Enjorlas and has him rethinking, well, everything.
Relationships: Enjolras/Grantaire (Les Misérables)
Kudos: 13





	1. A Nonbeliever

**Author's Note:**

> I call this I listened to too much Hozier while reading fan fiction and got ~inspired~
> 
> Also I just came out of a writing slump so please be nice.
> 
> I am Completely aware that this isn’t great, I’m sorry.

Grantaire was drunk and everything was hazy.

He sat at a small table with his head propped up by his hand and his eyes glued on the white knight who was standing on the long table in the center of the room. Enjolras was preaching to the rest of the room about, well Grantaire was not quite sure what he was going on about, he had caught the words police and protests and maybe America, but that had been it. Whatever world saving scheme Enjolras had come up with, he wasn't listening to it. Instead his mind was playing with the idea of a portrait.

It had occurred to him when he was halfway through his bottle of wine that he could paint a very good, and also very biblical inspired, portrait of Enjolras. Whether or not he would actually do it was still very much up for discussion, and based on the fact the Enjolras couldn’t stand to hear him talk, painting him would not happen.

With every passing hour the bottle in his other hand emptied and at some point during the night it had been replaced by another.

“So, what fantastical scenario have you dreamt up this time?” Eponine slurred as she plopped herself into the empty chair next to Grantaire.

He turned to look at her, aware of her presents but not much else, “Hmm?” 

“I said-“ she traced her eyes to where he had been staring and sighed, “Nevermind. Can I have some?”

He passed the bottle to her without a second thought and she took it gratefully, swinging her whole head back to down as much as she could.

He gave her a questioning look, “Marius?” He knew the answer already, but this was routine, and he asked out of decency.

“Yup” she said before taking another large sip.

“Ah,” He turned back to watching Enjolras angrily ranting about, what Grantaire assumed was the same rant he’d go on about how the government was failing the people. “Sorry.” 

“S’okay. Just- I don’t know.”

“Yeah, I know.”

“We should host a protest!” Enjorlas’s voice rang through the room. Grantaire could see the excitement dawn over the rest of the Amis. Some however, like Combeferre straightened up, knowing that this would have to be calculated, or at least more organized than the last.

Grantaire couldn’t help himself as he stood to his feet abruptly and with as little grace as humanly possible. Everyone turned to look at him. “It’s not going to work.”

Enjolras frowned as he turned to look at Grantaire. “Oh, do enlighten us,” he leered, jumping off the table.

“What are you even trying to do?” Grantaire shouted at him. he didn’t understand his sudden anger, but it was almost the strongest feeling he ever had. “Get yourselves killed?”

“You have no faith, Grantaire.”

“Maybe I don’t, but what happened to you all last time?” His body moved on its own and he found his feet moving towards the door. “You all could have died because you lacked planning and a cause. Tell me, who will you fight this time? All the governments?”

“You know just as well as any of us that it wasn’t our fault!”

“Who’s fault was it then?” Grantaire looked away from his friends, “I’m not going to stay and watch you all go to your deaths.”

He stumbled down the stairs and out the door, leaving an uneasy silence In his wake.

——

The small room erupted and Enjolras couldn’t think anymore. He was still trying to process what had happened. It wasn’t unlike Grantaire to get into arguments with him, but they tended to be from a dry, drunken place, but this time it seemed different. It came from somewhere, but since when did he actually care about the endeavors of The Amis.

“Someone’s going to have to go after him.” Combeferre said quietly to Enjolras, he had turned his back to the rest to keep whatever this conversation would be private.

Enjolras pinched the bridge of his nose, “I know, but I have to fix this,” he gestured to the room.

Combeferre placed his hand on his shoulder, “Ok, I’ll find someone to go after him, it’ll probably be Epotine, even though this is probably something you started and should fix. We should just send everyone home, fix this at the next meeting. Yeah?”

“I- Hold on, I need a moment to think.”

“Okay,” Combeferre turned to watch the rest of their friends. Grantaire’s outbursts had thrown all order out the window, not that there had been any to begin with, but they were left to question what he had said. Granted, what he had said must be taken with a grain of salt for how drunk he was, but it still didn’t help the others shake the feeling that he was a little right.

“Okay, I’ve got it.” Enjolras mumbled, he stepped up on a chair and then the table, “Alright, so we’ll just continue this next time we meet, so just go home! I’ll see you all tomorrow for our bimonthly brunch.”

When everyone had left Enjolras slumped down in his chair and let his head fall into his hands. An event like this wasn’t completely uncommon for an Amis meeting, but this was a different kind of disruption. Grantaire making a valid point, not that he’d ever admit that he had, shook Enjolras. The stakes he had pointed out were not ones he wanted to deal with. Losing his friends' lives shouldn't have to be something that he has to factor in whenever they want to stand against something. He supposed it was part of what they were fighting against. Nevertheless, Grantaire words started to eat away at his thoughts. Would they truly be marching to their deaths?

The words Combeferre has said to him as long rattled in his mind, had he been the cause for the outburst? And what had he done to cause it?

His mind started to draw blanks, the answers he wanted we not ones he could find. “Fuck,” he mumbled under his breath, “What the fuck.”

“Hey, Enjolras? Are you okay?” Combeferre approached him slowly, “Come on, you should go home, don’t you have class or something tomorrow?”

“Huh?” He spun quickly to look at him. His face blushed with color as the realization that the other man had heard him swearing instead of fixing his problems. “Oh. Yeah, I do. We should probably get going?” He pulled his phone out and his face fell. “Oh, it’s almost 3.”

“Precisely why I came to get you. I assumed you’d still be here.” He put his hand on Enjorlas’s shoulder once again, “Come on, let’s go.”

“Okay,” he said. He allowed his friend to guide him out of the small cafe and to the street, while he contemplated the night.

A dull silence echoed between them. The silence was quite common between the two during such hours of the night, but there was a new uneasiness that followed the men. They had felt it before, sure, but it was starting to wear on their neatly built walls.

“Do you want to talk about the meeting?” Combeferre asked suddenly, breaking the silence of the empty night.

“No. Not really.” He shifted a quick glance to him. “I suppose you’re going to talk about it anyway though.”

“He wasn’t wrong, you know.”

Enjolras shoved his hands in his pockets and looked away from the other man. He tried to find something in his view to distract from the conversation, but with only the moon for light and the empty streets surrounding them, there wasn’t anything to use as an excuse. “I know.”

“That’s it? You know?” Combeferre sighed, “This is bigger than us, you have to have more than an ‘I know’. Jesus!”

“Look, I know he’s right, but I just- I need a moment.” They came to their apartment building, “Can we discuss this tomorrow?

Combeferre was quite all the way up the stairs, taking into consideration Enjolras’s plea.

“See,” he said as opened the door to their apartment, “I’d love to, but we both know if I let this go now, you’re not going to talk about it tomorrow, despite your promises.”

Enjolras shook his head, “I give you my word. Now please, Ferre, I have a very important class tomorrow, let me go to bed.”

Seeing that he had lost the battle, Combeferre shook his head and let the other man go off to bed. Instead of diving into the conversation like he had wanted, he wrote a small note and tapped it to the coffee machine. “If he doesn’t see this,” he muttered, “I give up. I swear to god.”


	2. What Happens

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this is so short I ran out of creative juice and then school started. But hey I did something at least.

The sun rose. Grantaire did not rise with it. Instead, he grumbled and rolled over in his bed, attempting to pull the blanket over his head but failing. He settled for burying his head into the pillow.

Stupid sun. He thought. But he still mentally berated himself for not closing the blinds when he stumbled in drunk last night. Not that he could have, he even pushed Éponine off of him when she tried to help him up the stairs. 

He had come to regret that decision when she dumped him at their door and didn’t look at him for the rest of the night. Although they were friends and had come to an understanding, they often did little things, when drunk, that pushed the other slightly too far. 

Or maybe it was something he had said to her in those moments on the stairs. Not that he could remember now, even if he tried.

A second wave of sleep came over him, it was heavy and unsettling, but it was better than trying to justify all the things he had said the night before.

When he woke up there was a cup of water and Advil next to his bed. He groped for them hastily, tossed them in his mouth, and quickly downed the cup of water.

He sat up slowly taking in the room he hadn't cleaned for ages. There were brushes and paints everywhere. At least a week's worth of laundry was strewn across the floor, and there were cups and plates and bottles stacked up on every surface.

He rubbed his eyes and groaned. “Fuck.”

Just then Éponine poked her head into his room. “So, you’re alive?”

“Thank you,” he said quietly, refusing to answer her question. He wasn’t quite sure if he was. “For the water.”

“It’s what friends do, isn’t it? Help friends with hangovers?” She maneuvered her way through his room, careful not to step on paint or a lone sock. She plopped herself on Grantaire’s bed. “What happened to you last night? I went after you, you know. Searched for hours, why did you end up at the bridge?”

“The stars are prettier there,” he said simply with a shrug. 

“You threw the meeting into chaos. I think you might have given Enjolras a heart attack.” She laughed and fell back on the bed, while Grantaire smiled at the thought of a meeting in disarray even with Enjolras’s meticulous planning.. Éponine, however, was eager to change the subject. “For the love of god though, you have to clean your room soon. I’ll get lost on the way in.”

Grantaire laughed, “Good. That means you won't bother me anymore,”

“Me, a bother?” She feigned hurt and sat up. “Never.”

They both laughed until her face shifted. It dawned a dark shadow as her lips pursed and her brow furrowed. It was one she wore often in regards to Grantaire, but it had been awhile she had worn it, “What happened last night?” She said again. She would be getting an answer, she knew it, he knew it. “I’d say it’s not like you, I mean you’ve done this before, but never to that extent.”

Grantaire shook his head. “I didn’t mean to, but you saw the news. You know what’s happening over in America. For god’s sake, they’re going to get themselves killed. I know, I know it hasn’t happened yet, but it could. What if it’s this time?”

Eponine smiled, “Do you actually care about them?”

“What?” Grantaire’s eyes met hers briefly, but he quickly shifted his gaze, unwilling to give her the truth. “No. No, I don’t.”

“Okay, sure.” 

“I just- what do we do when they don’t make it?” Grantaire’s shoulder shook. He planned to blame whatever feelings he had on the hangover. “What happens to us when they leave?”

“Oh.”

His words hung in the air. What happens indeed. Neither of them had dared to think about what would happen if their friends didnt make it. Sure, it was a question that plagued their dreams, but it would never be spoken aloud. Now with it in the open, life was sucked out of the room. There wouldn’t be any escaping it. 

The two of them sat there side by side on the bed until life became unbearable.

What happens to us when they leave?

What do we do when they don't make it?


End file.
